The Third Lynx

less with all that extra hair and beard obscuring it. Between the hair and the clothing, he looked more like a wilderness wanderer than a rich college student. Still, it was a concern, and I kept my eye on Morse and Penny in hopes of stifling any cry of recognition before it got started.

Which was probably why Stafford was nearly to his customs table before I spotted the Tra'ho oathling standing quietly among a group of armed guards in the far corner of the room.

An oathling I'd last seen in Magaraa City outside the Fraklog-Oryo Hotel.

I looked sideways at Bayta, found her looking tensely back at me. She'd obviously spotted him, too, probably before I had. Morse and Penny, in contrast, still seemed oblivious to this new threat.

But then, he wasn't a threat to either of them.

Stafford had moved up to the table and opened his backpack, revealing a strange half log, half sculpture hybrid that looked like that odd breed of rough-hewn folk art so dearly beloved by sentimental tourists. The customs agent was frowning as Stafford gestured and talked, most likely explaining it was kiln-fired clay and not real Ghonsilyan wood. The agent cut him off, peering at his sensor display, and gestured for the next bag to be put on the table. A minute later, with the procedure completed, Stafford packed up his last bag and strode off through the doors into the station. The customs agent beckoned, and the next Tra'ho in line moved up to the table.

I looked back at the oathling. His eyes were still searching the crowd, having missed Stafford completely. Now all the kid had to do was get aboard one of the shuttles and get to the Tube before the balloon went up. Fortunately, with this much traffic the shuttles were likely to be running pretty continuously.

And then, as I watched the oathling out of the corner of my eye, his drifting gaze abruptly locked on to my face.

I forced myself to stand still, waiting tensely for him to sic the guards on me. But no cry was given, no signal passed. Apparently, the Modhri had decided to play it cool.

And it suddenly occurred to me why. Back during our private parley in the art museum, I'd hinted that I had concealed weapons that the Spiders permitted me to carry aboard the Quadrail.

I'd spun the story mainly to try to obscure Fayr's role in our rescue. But the Modhri had apparently taken the conversation seriously. He was therefore waiting to make his move until after I hit the customs tables, hoping their scanners would pick up any such weaponry and deprive me of it.

Ahead, the Nemut directly in front of Fayr moved up for his turn under the microscope. 'Morse?' I murmured.

'What?' he said distractedly.

'Whatever happens, make sure to get Bayta and Ms. Auslander to the Tube,' I said. 'Got that?'

I had his full attention now. 'What are you talking about?' he demanded quietly.

'Just get them to safety,' I said. I started to drift to the side.

Morse caught my arm. 'Don't even think about it,' he warned. 'Whatever it is.'

'We don't have a choice,' I said. 'See that oathling over there, the one with all the mobile firepower? He's looking for me.'

'What, over the hotel thing?' Morse scoffed.

'No, over the fact that the Lynx I gave the art museum to auction off was a fake.'

Morse's grip tightened. 'A what?'

'One of Stafford's friends in the artists' colony sculpted it for me,' I told him. 'It was late enough in the auction schedule that the gang wouldn't have gotten hold of it and learned the truth until we were already off planet. Obviously, they lasered a message ahead.'

'So how did the oathling get here before we did?'

'They probably sent him off right after Bayta and I gave the rest of you the slip,' I said. 'They would have wanted one of their own here as backstop in case I managed to get off Ghonsilya with the Lynx.'

'Are you saying you have it with you?'

In answer, I nudged my larger carrybag with my foot.

Morse hissed softy between his teeth. 'This won't be easy.'

'No kidding,' I said. 'Just stay clear, wave your badge around if necessary, and get the women to the Tube.'

The Nemut sealed his last bag and strode off through the doors, and it was Fayr's turn. The customs agent was obviously familiar with Bellidos; even as Fayr stepped forward, he reached down and pulled a pair of Quadrail lockboxes from beneath the table, one for the handguns, the other for the Rontra in its case.

Stepping out of line, I started toward the row of tables, walking with a determined but casual gait that I knew from experience tended to slow people's reactions. For a half-dozen steps no one even seemed to notice me, and for another two they remained frozen out of sheer puzzlement as to what I was doing. By the rime the oathling in the corner recovered from his own paralysis and snapped an order I was nearly there.

And as the customs agent frowned, and the Tra'ho guards started forward, I took a final step to Fayr's side and plucked one of his handguns and a clip from the open lockbox on the table in front of him.

The customs agent gave a startled screech and lunged toward me. But he was too late. Taking half a step back, I jammed the clip into the gun, chambered a round, and aimed the weapon at the oathling and his guards. 'Hold it,' I called.

The whole room froze, no one speaking, no one twitching, and for that first few seconds possibly no one even breathing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Fayr shift his weight subtly—'You—Bellido,' I growled, gesturing to him with my free hand. 'Back away from the guns and you won't get hurt.'

Fayr caught the cue. 'You have my status gun,' he said stiffly.

'Don't worry, it's not personal,' I assured him. 'Now, back off. You—over there,' I added to the guards standing like a set of overwound springs beside the oathling. 'Hands on your heads. No need for anyone to be a dead hero.'

Silently they complied. I was just reaching over to shut the lockbox with the rest of Fayr's guns when I heard the faint sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. I turned my head, wondering what Morse had in mind.

But it wasn't Morse. 'What are you doing?' Penny demanded as she ran toward me, her eyes wide with disbelief. A startled Morse, I saw peripherally, was in pursuit, but a crucial four steps too far back. 'You mustn't—'

There was no time to think. No time to do anything but what her action had forced on me. As she came within reach, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, shifting my left arm to wrap around her throat. 'Play along,' I muttered into her ear as she gasped with surprise and perhaps a little pain. 'You hear me?'

Whether she heard me or whether sheer disbelief finally succeeded in freezing her muscles, she went rigid. Lifting my gun hand over her shoulder, I peered around the side of her head.

If I hadn't burned my bridges before, I had definitely dynamited them now. The Tra'hok culture might have a strong undercurrent of specism to it, but they drew a strange but solid line at females. Especially their own, but also those of other species. By taking a female hostage, I had just taken a giant step over that line.

The entire crowd knew it. All around me, Tra'hok ears were twitching with anger and injured honor, and I had the feeling that we were one spark away from a full-fledged lynch mob.

I focused on the oathling. He was as outraged as the rest of them, his eyes burning like he was trying to set me on fire through sheer willpower.

But his Tra'hok sensibilities weren't alone behind those eyes. I waited, letting the Modhri mind segment think it through, hoping he would come to the same conclusion I'd already reached.

In the deathly silence, the oathling stepped forward. [What do you do, Human?] he demanded. [What purpose have you?]

'I want to get on the Quadrail and go my way,' I told him. 'That's all.'

[You have committed criminal acts.]

'Only this one,' I said. 'And if I get to leave and don't hurt anyone, it won't count.'

It was a strained and completely implausible line of reasoning, of course. But I wasn't counting on reason to get me out of this.

[Interesting logic you present,] the oathling said dryly, taking another step toward me. [Let us examine your claim. Have you murdered any Tra'ho'seej? Or committed Assault One?]

'No, to both,' I said. Fortunately for my presumed part in the sunburst grenade incident, Tra'hok law defined Assault One as an attack causing actual injury. Dazzled eyes didn't count.